


Hearts Are Not Built to Choose

by Deadly_Sirius



Series: Unfinished Works [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Actor!Louis, Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, I'll probably update tags as I go, Liam's the only one who's American but they all go to school in America, M/M, Model!Zayn, Recreational Drug Use, artist!zayn, larry - Freeform, ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadly_Sirius/pseuds/Deadly_Sirius
Summary: Louis Tomlinson is a Brit going to school in America. His roommate and roommate's best friend are both unbelievably irritating and finals are coming up fast, so he's resorted to practically living in the library on campus. Louis has ten days until he steps onto a plan back to Doncaster, but his sanctuary in the library has been invaded by a curly-haired student with green eyes who lets Louis nap on him. Will Louis make it through the next ten days? Or will distractions around him prevent him from passing his classes?WORK IN PROGRESS
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Series: Unfinished Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1378408
Kudos: 9





	1. Ten

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Back to You" by Margaret Glaspy!
> 
> I have a bunch of 1d fic drafts rn and I've had them for so long that I think the only way I'll be motivated to finish them is if the first few chapters are published and people actually want to see more. Hope y'all like it!

Ten days. There was so much to do. Louis only had ten days until the end of finals.

Alternatively, Louis only had ten days. He only had to make it through ten more 24-hour periods before he got on a beautiful, special, incredible, 4 a.m. flight on a Sunday from BOS, in Boston, to DSA, in Doncaster, England. He would land at noon, Boston time, but it'd be 5 p.m. at home. Home. With his sweet mother whose hugs he longed desperately for and his shithead sisters that seemed to multiply in number every time he came home whom he wouldn't trade for anything in the world. Sunday roasts and pubs with friends and bundling up against the cold England--not _New_ England, thank you very fucking much--weather. He could already hear Ernie's little laugh while he decorated the Christmas tree with Doris and Phoebe and Daisy while Fizzy grilled Louis on details about the city and college and Lottie sipped her spiked eggnog with a grin and warm, pink cheeks.

Ten days really wouldn't be so bad. Not if he could sleep in a real bed and use his own desk to do work and maybe steal his roommate's leftovers from their fridge. Instead, Louis has banished himself to the library, nearly entirely. How Liam Payne was a real person, Louis had no idea. The asswit probably couldn't tell his left from his right. His voice was loud and thick with an aggravating American accent. It was one of those nondescript ones; it wasn't Canadian enough like from Minnesota or southern enough or even Boston enough to mock or anything for Louis to impersonate. It was just.. gritty. Messy. Nasally. Harsh.

Louis knew his own voice was gravelly and that a solid three quarters of the campus probably didn't know a single word that tumbled from his Donny-native lips. But Liam Payne.. his voice constantly racketed around between Louis's ears. Liam Payne was bad enough on his own.

But he came with a built-in bestie with an even _louder_ and _more_ obnoxious accent: Niall Horan, the Irish lad.

Louis initially had been grateful to meet someone, _anyone_ , besides Zayn that was from his side of the pond. And the Irish were always good fun. But then Niall opened his mouth and never closed it. He was always shouting, always laughing, or always pouring shitty American beer down his throat. And he was _always_ in Louis's apartment.

Zayn and Louis had met at the special orientation for international students. It was somewhat of a rocky first meeting.

Louis had said "Hullo," and asked "where are you from?"

Zayn had blinked blankly back at Louis and responded, "Why do you give a shit?"

"Er, because I think we're supposed to get to know each other?"

"Pakistan," he had replied, clipped and short. He had been standing alone, off to the side, and he crossed his arms to stay guarded.

Louis had furrowed his brows. Everything about Zayn screamed _Brit_ and it was one of the reasons Louis had approached him instead of the kids talking fast in a heavily accented Spanish that his shitty secondary school classes did nothing to help him translate. "Oh. Sorry, mate. Thought you were English or summat."

Zayn had blinked again. "Fuck," he breathed, "I think that's the first time someone's asked me that question innocently or without a request to speak fuckin' Arabic next."

Louis had cracked a smile. "Shit's weird over here, innit? But I'm sure America won't let you go long without a racist comment or two."

"Airport already gave me a hard time and I was getting _off_ a flight. Somehow 'Zayn Javadd Malik' flagged something in their system."

"Bastards." Louis had winced. "I'm Louis, by the way. I'm from Doncaster."

Zayn had grinned at that. "Bradford."

"Got a Bradford bad boy on my hands, then, don't I?"

Their friendship was immediate after that. Within two days, Zayn had switched his room assignment to be Louis's roommate. Zayn's old one apparently was a football-- _American_ football--player who got up early for practices and team breakfasts and shit and Zayn could absolutely not handle the alarms or the sweaty, smelly clothing. Louis's roommate was some quiet kid from Iowa or some shit--Louis really hadn't paid much attention to him--and was easy to bully out of the room. Louis and Zayn had roomed for their first two years but last April Zayn dropped the bombshell that he'd be living off-campus for Junior year.

Louis was also planning to do so, but he was taking advantage of student housing, because their campus was in fucking downtown Boston. Zayn was not. He was a student double majoring in Fine Arts and Museum Studies who painted and modeled and smoked and Louis had no idea where he got the money for a Boston flat because neither of the jobs he had paid anything above dirt and weed was oddly expensive in America. But Zayn got his own flat and he didn't have room for Louis even if Louis could cough up the price of half of the rent, which he definitely could not.

Zayn did help him out, though, by pairing him with a buddy of his from an English class he took on Toni Morrison. The guy was in need of a roommate and Louis figured if he got along with Zayn--AKA, one of the most difficult people to get along with--then he and Louis would do just fine.

Louis was sorely mistaken.

Louis had ten days until he left for break, nine days until the end of finals, four days before finals began. The library had changed its hours to be 24/7 starting last week because the university knew students would be cramming desperately for papers and tests and projects. Louis was, in fact, hurriedly revising almost constantly, but he had also found a particularly private and comfortable couch by a nice large window in the back left corner of the third floor and had taken to sleeping there.

Not sleeping, really, because he didn't do that whole eight-hours thing anymore, not right before finals. No, he had taken to doing his two-to-four hour naps, at any hour of the day, as a quick break from studying, on his couch in the library. He only went back to his apartment with Liam to grab a change of clothes and shower if he wasn't going to make it to the gym. Which, realistically, he wasn't going to.

He had just gotten back from one of said trips, of course bumping into Niall who really should pay rent if he was going to be there more than Louis, and he quickly made his way to his private little corner. The light outside the window was already starting to dim and it cast a bronzy tint over the wooden table in front of the surprisingly comfortable six-and-a-half foot gray couch Louis claimed as his own.

Louis nudged the bag he kept all his notebooks, folders, planners, and binders in that he left on the couch so as to make it seem like the spot was taken when he dipped out for class or a shower. Truthfully, his paperwork was a haphazard pile of shit that nobody would want to steal anyway. Louis kept his textbooks and laptop close to his chest at all time.

Settling into the back of his couch, he toed off his shoes (very ill-fitted for any snow or cold weather) and propped his socked feet up on the table. Louis balanced his computer on his thighs and cracked open his Calculus textbook to rest on the cushion next to him. As a Theatre major, with a minor in Primary Education, Louis strongly believed that Calculus was utterly useless and unnecessary. Unfortunately, his university's graduation requirements thought otherwise. Louis had played a smart but painful game with himself; take most of his major-specific classes in the first two years so he didn't want to drop out. He also wanted to end Senior year on a high note with the fun, higher level electives, which meant Junior year was when he planned to cram in all of his required courses. Plus, it meant if he failed one, he had a year to make it up without having to graduate late.

The plan was going moderately well; Louis wanted to drop out, but he wouldn't actually. He couldn't say he'd feel the same if he'd taken Calculus his first year of being in the States.

Louis was fighting tooth-and-nail through the seventh chapter of his textbooks, digging through his unhelpful notes for a clue, when something warm and wet hit his leg.

"Oops."

Louis glanced at his gray sweatpants now stained dark brown, a strong smell of coffee hitting his nose, before he looked up at the culprit. He found more brown, although the long curls were more reminiscent of chocolate than black coffee, and a shock of forest green. Nose and cheeks were chapped pink from the cold wind outside. Eyelashes, that while pretty still could never rival Zayn's, opened and closed quickly as those green eyes flitted nervously.

"Hi," Louis replied simply.

"Sorry about that. I think I tripped over your bag." Louis had left his book bag on the floor next to the side of his couch, far out of this tall guy's line of sight. He must have stumbled on it while walking up to the side of Louis. "Do you want me to get you, like, a paper towel or something?"

Louis gazed lazily at lush, pink colored lips while he processed the offer. He glanced at his leg again and the stain really wasn't all that big and it wasn't dripping. It was probably just a little splash out of the mouthpiece of the guy's coffee cup from when he fumbled over Louis's bag. "Nah," Louis said, relaxed and slightly hazy as he slumped a little further into his comfortable couch.

Then, he processed the voice. Deep, rumbly, slow. Quieted out of respect for library rules. _Not American._

Louis sat straight up in his seat. "Where are you from, lad?"

A smile broke out on the guy's face, erasing his anxious nerves. _Dimples_. "Cheshire. Little town called Holmes Chapel. I'm guessing you call somewhere in Yorkshire home?"

"Doncaster," Louis replied. "Fuck, it's so good to find somebody from England who isn't me best mate."

The Cheshire boy laughed softly. "I feel you. With winter hols coming up, all I want to do is hear my mum's voice."

Louis nodded, warmth spreading in his chest as he thought about his own mother's voice. Ten days.

"Listen, I hate to bother you, but I actually came up to you because there's literally no fucking seating in this entire goddamn library and I need somewhere to study. Your corner was the last, most empty place I found. I checked all seven floors."

The warmth was gone. The lips and green eyes were nothing but that. There was no charming Louis if you were going to intrude on his special space.

But the sky outside of the window had gone pitch black. There was a gap between the end of the book stacks and the back wall so Louis could see, reflected in the glass running past all the rows, pockets of students at tables with headphones in and books open. The clock on his computer read 7:44. The last class period before dinner was long over and dinner itself had just ended. Students always migrated to the library after their academic day ended and if they wanted a good spot, they needed to not be dumb enough to wait until the end of a meal time to show up. Louis really wanted to say 'tough luck.'

But it was dark and snow was starting to flurry down outside, and it was very, very possible that every seat was taken just before finals started. And Louis now smelled like coffee and this boy sounded, just a little bit, like home. And as much as Louis hated to admit he was a romantic, it _was_ the holiday season. Gratefulness, 'n all that.

Louis sighed. "No noise. No music, even in earbuds. No eating, no foot tapping, no gum chewing, no chatting, no humming and dear God no phone calls."

The dimples came back out. "Typing okay?"

"I guess, only because I'll be doing it myself, but you're on thin fucking ice," Louis warned. "Chug whatever you didn't spill all over me now because I don't want to listen to you slurping."

The guy rolled his eyes but did as instructed, quickly downing the contents of his cup. Louis felt a bit bad.

"I'm doing you a favor," he said as a reminder, but most likely not for the other guy.

"And I appreciate it," the guy responded, before Louis moved his Calculus textbook to balance on the armrest and the guy took the seat on the other side of Louis.

True to his word, that was the last sound he made aside from keys clacking and pages turning for hours. He didn't even annoyingly scratch the side of his face when he got stumped, simply squinted off into space for a few moments before turning back to his screen.

Louis, thankfully, actually got some work done. He finished reviewing three chapters' worth of content, edited an old draft of his paper on the effects of industrialization on social movements and political parties in America--he couldn't give less fucks about American history, honestly--and replied to a few housekeeping emails. He sent a text off to Fizzy, responding to a meme she'd sent him hours ago, when he noticed how heavy his eyelids and how stiff his joints felt.

He leaned forward to place his laptop on the table and tilted his head from side to side. He rolled his shoulders, arched his back, and stretched out his legs. After yawning, he decided to check his phone for the time. 11:57. They'd been sitting in near-perfect silence for over four hours.

With 113 pages of George Orwell left to read, two chapters and 29 problems to answer in his Biology 101 textbook, and notes and analyzations on a script for his directing class all due before his 10 a.m., Louis figured he could give himself a gracious two hours now before he would probably need to get up and start working again, and another two hours later in the morning, but before his class, if he kept on schedule. 

Closing the lid of his laptop, Louis put it inside his bag alongside the textbook he'd been working out of. He moved around for a minute collecting his things, the guy next to him not moving or asking if Louis was leaving.

Eventually, when both bags were packed and zipped, Louis put them on the table in front of him and sat back into the couch, already leaning down to rest his head and neck on the armrest. "Don't let anyone steal those," he muttered, gesturing to his bags on the table.

The guy looked up at Louis just as he closed his eyes and tried to settle in. "You heading to bed?"

"Just going down for a kip."

"Should I wake you up?"

"If you're still here in two hours, sure."

"Two hours. Got it."

Louis let the sound of the guy on the other side of the couch typing and breathing blend in with the sounds of pencils scratching and paper turning throughout the rest of the floor. A few whispers through the stacks. The lights on the other side of his eyelids were warm but dim when he turned to face the big window.

But his neck was uncomfortable, the armrest unforgiving, so he moved back to lay on his back, except he didn't know what to do with his arms. If he faced away from the window, he'd be facing the back of the couch and probably feel like he was suffocating. His legs were bent at the knees and hips and he felt curled and tight. Louis may not have been the 5'9" he boasted, but it meant no matter where he slept, he could usually appropriately stretch out. This couch was a little less than a foot longer than him, so he could usually ball up a jacket under his head and have plenty of room for his legs to reach out straight.

This guy's lap was in the way.

Out of respect for personal boundaries, Louis had curled in on himself slightly, but he never could drift off in fetal. On top of his frustrating position, a cold draft blew over his collarbone where his shirt had scrunched down. He shivered slightly and opened his eyes.

One of the large windows a few rows down had been cracked open. The cloud blown through it clearly indicated someone was vaping, either to stay awake or to combat nerves or both. The library in the beginning of December wasn't known for being particularly warm, even when the windows weren't open. The cold probably shocked their system to keep them awake and working, which was exactly what Louis was trying _not_ to do.

He grumbled quietly to himself and turned over again.

"You cold?" The deep, rumbling voice asked.

Louis tried not to answer, but ended up nodding despite himself.

"I've got an extra hoodie in my bag. It's clean, I swear." Louis heard the guy on the other end of the couch bend over and start rifling through his things.

"You really don't have to-"

"It's totally fine. I want to. You're just taking a nap; it's not like you're running off and gonna steal it."

He did have a point. Louis had barely sat up before the soft cotton was dumped in front of him. It had their school logo on it. When Louis hesitantly pulled it over his head, the hood flopped over his eyes and the sweatshirt dwarfed him. He was swimming in fabric, but it was warm and smelled like vanilla and coffee and patchouli and a strange, bright hint of apple. It also had a vague scent that reminded Louis all too well of his own laundry detergent.

The extra fabric of the hood helped soften the pressure on his neck but his back felt rounded and Louis knew it would ache when he woke up in a few hours. Aiming for subtle, he turned and fidgeted slightly, trying to do so as quietly as possible.

Which, apparently, wasn't very quiet.

"Can't fall asleep?"

"'M bad at having to be all curled up," Louis muttered back. This guy spilled coffee on him, took his mattress space, and now was talking while Louis was trying to fall asleep.

"Put your legs in my lap, then."

Louis stopped turning. He opened his eyes, forehead wrinkling as he stared out the dark window for a few beats before looking down the couch at the guy looking back at him. "What?"

"If you sleep better stretched out and shit, I don't mind." His computer was balanced atop his own armrest and he must've been editing or doing online research because he didn't have any books or papers cluttering up his space either. If his hands were on his keyboard, his arms would naturally be supported and never even touch Louis. Louis wouldn't be in his way.

"I can't do that."

"Really, I don't care."

Louis's mind was racing. "What if my feet smell?"

"Then I'll tell you they smell and retract my offer."

"What if I thrash in my sleep and kick you?"

"Then I'll shove you off and sue you for damages."

Louis stared at him.

"I'm serious. If it'll help you sleep I genuinely don't mind."

Louis stared at him.

"Fuckin' twat. C'mere," the guy said, grabbing on of Louis's ankles and pulling him down the cushions slightly.

Louis's head was now past the armrest and he could rest it on the cushion beneath him. His socked feet were in some stranger's lap, his heels resting in the dip where this stranger's thighs met. The guy at the end of the couch turned his head and attention back to his computer screen, but the hand that had yanked on Louis's ankle stayed there, resting delicately and warmly on Louis's skin.

It was only just as Louis was slipping out of consciousness that he realized a thumb was gently, absentmindedly rubbing circles over his ankle bone.


	2. Nine

"Hey, mate," a rich, low voice hummed.

Louis felt someone tapping on his thigh.

"It's 2 a.m. I'm gonna head out, won't get anything done well this late, but you wanted me to wake you up."

Louis blinked awake. Green eyes met his and the brown curls were now hidden in a bun, the style allowing Louis to admire a sharp jawline and high forehead. "Oh."

"Yeah," the guy at the other end of the couch nodded.

He leaned over Louis's feet in his own lap to set his computer on the wooden table in front of him. Then, he lifted Louis's legs underneath his calves and stood up before gently placing them back on the couch cushion. Aside from his laptop, which he quickly and easily slid into his bag, he was all packed. Louis watched as he shrugged on a thick, puffy winter coat.

"You always study here?" he asked, wrapping a scarf around his neck.

Louis nodded. "Yeah. Practically live here."

"Maybe I'll see you around, then," the guy replied.

Louis didn't really want visitors in his secret space, never mind returning ones. He didn't get the chance to say as much, though, before he was replying to the other guy's 'goodbye' with his own.

It took a few moments for Louis to wake up enough to sit upright. As his socked feet finally hit the ground again, his hands reaching for a highlighter and his used copy of _1984_ , he noticed long, cotton sleeves falling past his fingertips.

Louis hadn't ran off, but he'd still stolen the stranger's sweatshirt.

After hundreds of pages of reading, some note-taking, those 29 Bio problems and another two-hour nap under his belt, Louis made it out of the library in time to grab a breakfast sandwich and an extra large hot, black coffee before his History of American Industrialization lecture. As much as he loved tea, Dunkin' Donuts would not do the job correctly and he'd much rather wait nine days before his mum could make him a steaming hot cup with a splash of milk than drink a godforsaken substitute for decent tea.

Rather belatedly, he realized he still had a brown stain on the right pant leg of his joggers when he sat down toward the back of the lecture hall and pulled out his laptop to take notes. The stranger's sweatshirt with their university's insignia on it still draped over his significantly smaller frame and Louis really ought to stop wearing it and maybe wash it so he can give it back.

All thoughts of possibly washing the sweatshirt, or any other piece of laundry for that matter, immediately flew out of his mind when he opened the unlocked door to his and Liam's flat. Someone called out "Tommo!" in an Irish lilt and Louis could already feel the headache building inside his skull. Zayn should've rented Louis his own flat if he had all that random, secret money lying around. He was the one who was friends with Liam anyways. Louis did nothing to deserve this torment.

"Horan," he gritted out. _Get in, get out. Shower quickly. Change clothes and pack extra so you don't have to come back tomorrow._ Louis repeated his instructions to himself so as not to be thrown off track. It was a constant problem when he returned to his flat; he was always fighting to maintain his schedule and not be lured into pizza and beer.

"'M kickin' Li's arse at Fifa so he went out for beers. You should stay and have one! You can play me while we wait for him. I'd be up for a bit of a challenge after beating him all fuckin' day," Niall said, loving but competitive teasing woven into his tone.

"Can't. Gotta get back to the library. Have work to do."

"You're always there," Niall groaned, leaning his head back against the couch so he can pout, upside down, at Louis.

_Because you're always here_ , Louis bit back. He just sighed, tiredly. "I'm just going to shower and head out."

"Sure you can't stay for lunch? I'll give you my Calc notes from two years ago if you do," Niall tempted.

Niall was lying; he'd made the same promise countless times before. He banked on the fact that Louis would have such a good time with him and Liam that Louis would forget about the promise. It became evident, after time and time again of the same offer, that Niall had almost definitely thrown out or burned his notes after finishing the course as a freshman. Anyways, Louis only ever had fun because Niall was there. He detested every moment he had to spend with his roommate and if Liam wasn't here now then Louis was getting out before he came back.

"I'm just going to shower and head out," Louis repeated, mostly for himself.

There was a muscle shirt, a wet towel, and a pair of dirty boxers on the bathroom floor. There were beard trimmings on the sink counter. The shower drain was clogged with hair too short and dull brown to be Louis's own. Despite all of these irritating facts, Louis still managed to have a fairly decent, and short, shower. He pretended the hot water on his shoulders and back alleviated some of his stress, even if he remained just as tense and the knots in his muscles just as tight when he stepped out.

After dragging a dry, clean towel over his body, Louis headed into his room, door firmly shut, and changed. He pulled on black joggers that may or may not make his arse look delectable--he deserved to have _something_ going for him while he was stressed and looked like he had one foot in the grave--and a light grey henley. He shoved a pair of sweatpants, a few extra t-shirts and another sweatshirt into his bag. He selfishly put the stranger's large one back on; it still smelled like vanilla and patchouli. Louis was convinced the apple must've come from the lad's curls. Perhaps it was his shampoo.

True to his hypothesized image of himself, Louis caught a glimpse of his face in a mirror and frowned. He was surprised he was upright with the size of the bags under his eyes. His face looked patchy and the shaggy facial hair and messy hair wasn't helping. After a sigh, Louis returned to the bathroom to trim his beard and put a little bit of product into his fringe. If he looked somewhat pulled together, maybe he'd start to feel it, too.

With trainers much too thin for the snowy ground laced up, Louis grabbed his bag and exited his room, eagerly trying to avoid Liam at all costs. It took one unfortunate bump into his roommate and yet another offer of beer for Louis to dodge Liam's body standing in front of the door and walk out of the apartment. Wind blew through cotton and pierced his skin. As stubborn as he was, his refusal to wear a winter coat in New England during December had more to do with his financial status. It'd be wasteful to buy a new coat when he had a perfectly nice one hanging in his closet at home. In Doncaster. And he didn't want his mum to have to pay for the international shipping either. He'd forgotten it at home when he left England at the start of fall and had resolved to grab it the next time he was home for Christmas.

The library wasn't too far from his flat so Louis only had to shiver for a short ten minutes, broken up by a visit to the deli a few blocks away for a takeout lunch. As it had just reached 11:45, most of the library's occupants were clearing out, or about to, for a lunch break and classes. Louis had only the one that morning and planned to plop himself into his corner and not move until his 1:00 p.m. the next day. Zayn had already agreed to bring dinner and breakfast by, in need of some study time himself. And in need of some Louis time as well, obviously.

Louis swiped his student ID at the entrance and passed through the waist-high gates before turning toward the stairwell. He climbed the two flights of stairs up to the third floor and immediately to the left, deep in between the stacks and passed plenty of other open desks and study rooms and comfy chairs. His trusty backpack of folders and binders sat on the cushion of his couch, properly warding away any other students. His slice of private heaven was empty and Louis breathed a sigh of relief, always slightly worried someone would take the space every time he left the library.

He dropped the bag with clothes, textbooks and his computer carefully on the table, yanked off his trainers, and pushed the other backpack off the seat so he could slump down into the cushions. Louis closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath. Then, he opened his eyes and leaned forward, unzipped his backpack, and set to work. He had shit to get done, after all.

It was around 4:00 p.m. when Zayn stopped by. He had a class at 6:30 p.m. and wanted time to get some work done beforehand. Louis eagerly took the chance to cuddle into Zayn and mark up his text of _1984_ while Zayn furrowed his brows and chose shots to add to his modeling portfolio and researched female visual artists for a paper and worked on a spreadsheet for his Intro to Accounting and Finances class he had to take for his Museum Studies degree. He didn't seem to mind the fact that he had Louis basically glued to his side the entire time, even rubbing Louis's shoulder every now and then while he examined photos or read articles or double-checked the numbers in his spreadsheet.

Zayn pulled Louis's dinner out of his bag when he slid his computer into it as he prepared to leave for class. He'd packed Louis some healthy salad with chicken his personal trainer had recommended, apparently. Louis's eyebrows rose when he saw the salad and Zayn seemed to agree with the sentiment as he himself just smoked his dinner, leaving a bit earlier than necessary so he could stand outside and burn through a few cigarettes before his class. Louis grumbled while he stabbed green leaves dressed in a light lemon vinaigrette and peppered chicken breast. Despite his whining, Louis secretly admitted that his stomach didn't feel as heavy and he wasn't as tired as he usually was after he stuffed a burger in his face and tried to avoid getting greasy fingerprints on his textbooks.

The sun had set a couple hours ago, just before Zayn left, when Louis finally took another pause. It was around 8:00 at night and Louis could see that the streetlights outside had turned on, casting an orangey glow on the snow and empty benches along the path to the library. Louis stretched his arms far above his head, leaning from side to side to stretch his ribcage out, before arching his back and crunching out a few pops in his spine. He had just started let his arms fall back to his sides when a voice spoke, deep and rumbling.

"Hey. Mind if I join you?"

Those chocolate curls were up in a bun again, letting Louis see the tips of pink ears. Green eyes shone bright as the lad from Cheshire smiled warmly at Louis, shrugging off his coat and draping it over the back of the couch even though Louis hadn't answered yet.

"Actually, I prefer to study alone," Louis corrected, looking pointedly at the jacket.

A low, breathy, explosive chuckle emitted from the other guy and it appeared he thought Louis was joking, as he took his seat on the other end of the couch. His laugh was short but it made Louis bristle; he wasn't sure if it was because he was mad this guy had sat down despite Louis's lack of invitation or if it was because he eagerly wanted to hear the sound again. Either way, there was now another person who wasn't Louis or Zayn sitting on Louis's precious couch and using his worshipped study spot. And he, most likely, would not be moving.

Louis huffed and resolved to ignore him.

Much to his annoyance, the other man wasn't annoying at all, and they worked quietly and easily for two hours. It was then that Louis began to realize the last time he had slept, about fourteen hours ago, now, and only a short nap. His body seemed to catch up with his thoughts and everything felt heavy, including his eyelids. He blinked many times, trying to clear the fog from his brain as he stared at a blinking cursor, his bibliography only two-thirds of the way done.

The time his eyes spent open between blinks got shorter and shorter as the time he spent with them closed and trying to convince himself to open them got longer. Eventually, he pried his eyelids open one last time just to check the time, huff, and close his computer. As he would be in the library until the next afternoon, Louis could afford to nap earlier in the night and work during the early a.m. hours.

Unfortunately, the problem of his bed space being occupied arose again. Because Louis was absolutely not, in any scenario whatsoever, going to ask to put his feet in this guy's lap again. It was an embarrassing ordeal last time and Louis hadn't even been the one to suggest it. 

Despite the burning shame of having to ask someone for such a favor, Louis's blood was thick and his head was drooping without his consent. He really needed to be unconscious, like, now.

Trying a different position, Louis brought his legs up onto the cushion and leaned against the side of the couch. Louis used an arm to pillow his head against the armrest, trying to fall asleep while sitting up slightly. He knew the crick in his neck would be horrendous, but at least he'd get some shut-eye. Louis was so exhausted that he had a feeling it'd work anyways.

Much to his surprise, after only a minute or two of bending his neck awkwardly down, Louis felt a few taps on the side of his calf. He raised his head and looked to the other end of the couch. Green eyes met his and a gentle hand wrapped around his ankle again and pulled slightly to uncurl Louis's leg.

"I really don't mind. I know I'm kind of stealing your mattress space."

Louis glanced at the lad's screen. "What're you working on?"

"I'm working on a horribly boring project for my Fundamentals of Marketing class and wishing you'd let me use headphones so I could mix some tracks."

Louis scrunched his nose in partial disgust and partial confusion. "What're you majoring in?"

"My dad wants something useful, so Business Administration and Management. He said I could do whatever else I wanted if I at least got a degree in Business, so I'm double majoring in Music as well and I'm minoring in English Lit."

"Your academic advisor must really love you."

To Louis's delight, the lad laughed again, this time heartier and higher in pitch. It was short again, two quick notes, but the smile remained. "She absolutely hates me. Says I can't do all that and work three jobs _and_ have a cat, but I've proved her wrong so far. I think she believes I'm never gonna date or that I even have friends."

Three jobs. A cat. Presumptuously single. Louis had so many questions. He also was about to pass out. His response was a yawn.

"Sorry," the guy said with another low chuckle, "I'm boring you."

Louis shook his head but yawned again nonetheless. He offered a small, apologetic smile and looked sheepishly as the other lad as he pulled Louis's feet into his lap. "As long as you aren't the kind of freak who turns the volume all the way up, you can use headphones," Louis allowed in appreciation. He was still sitting upright, now facing the other guy entirely while he feet rested on his thighs.

"Just tell me if you can hear anything and I'll turn it down."

Louis nodded, but fidgeted with the cuffs of the sweatshirt he was wearing nervously. He still felt embarrassed about the situation.

"What time do you want me to wake you up?"

"Whenever you're leaving is fine," Louis mumbled.

"Actually, I was planning to work through the night. I crashed after lunch and slept the entire afternoon. Will probably make it through to my 9:00 a.m. and then kip 'til my afternoon classes."

"Oh," Louis said, wracking his brain to remember what work he had to get done and see how much sleep he really needed. "Maybe a little after 2:00, then, if you don't mine," Louis offered.

"'Course not."

With the dreamy thought of _four whole hours straight_ of sleep, Louis flipped the hood of the sweatshirt up--the sweatshirt not belonging to himself but to those curls--and leaned back. The second his head hit the cushion, he was out like a light.


	3. Eight

Louis woke up to a quiet "Hey," hummed and loose curls. It seemed this guy never could make a decision on whether his hair would be up or down for the day and it was the only thing he fiddled with. While Louis read and typed and calculated and copy and pasted, he tried to be annoyed by the constant tilting forward, shaking down, pressing back that the guy at the end of the couch seemed to do. It was definitely distracting, as Louis paused to watch the action--at the very least, out of the corner of his eye--every time it happened, but Louis found he didn't really mind much. He liked an excuse to watch those curls bounce and to pause his incessant working every now and again.

The sun had just risen, a little after 7:00, when Louis could feel himself needing another nap. It was how he worked; nap throughout the day for bits of time that equated to less than the eight hours he needed straight anyways. Instead of choosing to work out a new uncomfortable option until Louis's shame got loud enough that the stranger pimped out his own lap, Louis instead mustered every ounce of courage his tired little body possessed and just opened his mouth.

"I'm gonna sleep again." The start was strong. "Would you-" he could feel his confidence failing, "Would you mind.. if-"

"Of course not." The reply was smooth and easy, the lad's right arm, the one closest to Louis, moving to the back of the couch so Louis could stretch out over his thighs without obstruction. Those green eyes didn't even move from a Statistics textbook when he responded, nor when Louis gingerly placed himself over his lap, nor when his right arm dropped back down and he cupped Louis's ankle again.

Not quite as drop-dead exhausted as last time, Louis took some time to drift off. His skin buzzed where fingers rubbed and delicately tapped in time to inaudible song, probably the one playing on loop as its creator engineered the track through his headphones. Louis thought about two majors, a minor, a cat, three jobs, and no partner. He thought about how no straight man would let another rest their feet on his thighs while they napped.

Louis listened to the click of the mousepad and felt the pattern tapped on his skin delay slightly before resuming. His breathing evened out and, without realizing, Louis fell asleep to the smell of sweet apples and a soft, glowing light on the other side of the window.

When Louis awoke, it was to a different, yet familiar, heavily accented voice. "Tommo. Mate, time to get up. I've got breakfast."

Louis groaned as he opened his eyes and threw an arm over his face when bright morning light streamed in from the window. Waking up meant more work and pulling himself out of this warm cocoon of soft cotton and squishy cushions and round thighs. But Zayn didn't seem to be leaving until Louis sat up.

"Sorry about Louis," Zayn said quietly to the lad at the end of the couch. "I'm his best mate," he added, pointing to Louis. "Guess that really means his keeper."

"Gimme my breakfast, you whore," Louis grumbled, reaching out his arms and making grabby hands at the bag Zayn held.

"Then sit up, cunt."

Louis whined loudly as he did so, bending at the waist and not removing his legs from their designated pillow. "Happy, fuckwit?"

"Suck my dick, twat," Zayn said lazily, tossing Louis the bag.

Louis caught it and glared up at Zayn. "Gladly."

Then, Zayn smirked and Louis cracked. They laughed for a moment, both comfortable with their occasional and casual hook-ups. They'd been happening less since the end of last year, but Louis attributed it to them not rooming together anymore, definitely not because of Zayn's lack of desire to get blown or Louis's lack of interest in blowing. Louis was quite good with his mouth and he enjoyed using it.

Louis peaked into the paper bag and found a cinnamon scone, a breakfast sandwich wrapped in tinfoil, and banana. "I would fucking kiss you if it weren't for your insistence on getting me to eat me fruits and veggies," Louis said, pulling out the scone and dumping the rest onto the table in front of him. He had to twist awkwardly and lean over to do so, but he wasn't moving his legs. There was a palm cupped over the arch of his foot and it radiated a warmth Louis's socks and pathetic trainers could never replicate.

"I've got all that shit around my flat and my trainer'll know if I don't eat it or throw it out."

"What, is he making house calls? Digging around in your bin?"

Louis made the comment with a smirk, but it slipped off his face and was replaced by high eyebrows when Zayn glanced away and squinted his eyes. Louis filed Zayn's reaction away for later, deciding not to press while someone else was there.

"Dunno if you can say anything while you're using this poor lad as your own personal footrest."

"I don't mind," Louis's footrest said instantly. It was a little pathetic, if Louis was honest.

"Do you even know his name?" Zayn asked, making Louis regret his decision not to press about the trainer thing.

"Uh," said Louis, dumbly.

"It's Harry," the lad--Harry--said. He directed it to Louis, even though Zayn had asked the question. "If it makes it any better, didn't know his name was Louis until you said it."

"That absolutely does not make it any better," Louis muttered, and the amusement on Zayn's face seemed to mean Zayn agreed. "I do know he's double-majoring, like you, in Business and Music, and I know he works three jobs and I know he has a cat-"

"Named Dusty," Zayn finished. Louis frowned. "One of those three jobs is at the museum on campus, Lou, the one _I work at_ , remember?"

Louis blushed. "He didn't say what those jobs were."

"The other ones are both at the Italian restaurant a few blocks from the museum. Harry waits tables and he also gigs there," Zayn informed.

"Gee, why isn't he _your_ footrest, then?"

Harry laughed at Louis's grumbling, the same bright, higher noise he had made the night before. "I'll eat your banana if you don't want it, Louis," Harry said around a smile, and Louis decided he wanted Harry to say his name more.

"Have at it," Louis replied, gesturing to the table in front of them.

Harry gripped the arch Louis's foot firmly as he leaned over Louis's legs to grab the fruit off the table. He had to use both hands to peel it--from the _bottom_ , no less--but his hand dropped down again after he'd taken a bite, his green eyes skimming over a passage from the Economics textbook opened on the armrest beside him.

Zayn had a shoot he had to get to, which explained the dark liner under his eyes and the gentle sparkle atop his cheekbones, so he said goodbye to the lads shortly after Louis had embarrassed himself, not for the first time, in front of Harry. At least Louis knew his name now.

It wasn't long after Zayn left that Harry too had to leave, needing to get to class. Louis pretended he was grateful to be alone, to have zero distractions while he studied. Pouring over Calculus chapters and sketching diagrams from his Bio textbook and highlighting passages from printed PDFs of history books, he lied to himself by thinking he was glad he couldn't procrastinate. In reality, he nearly begged Harry to skip his class just so Louis could stare at his profile instead of reading George Orwell. 

The choice to not return Harry's sweatshirt may or may not have been intentional, but it was definitely a selfish one.

Lunch consisted of another trip to the deli; it was cheap, fast, and reliably somewhat decent in quality. Louis's 1:00 p.m. was his directing class, which was good because he enjoyed it and got to prance around the black box theater's stage, but bad because the performing arts building was the farthest of his classes from the library. He made it on time for himself--seven minutes late--with an afternoon steaming hot travel cup of hot coffee. 

"Ah, there he is. Mr. Tomlinson has graced us with his wonderful presence today," his professor said with a dramatic wave of his hands as Louis walked in.

Louis gave a half-smile and gestured slightly with his hand holding his coffee. "Please, don't stop on my account. You may continue," he replied, cheekily.

His professor laughed and Louis was glad James--Professor Corden--liked him. James had directed Louis in performances on campus plenty of times and had taught most of the acting classes Louis had taken so far. He was the first person Louis reached out to when he applied to the American university and was able to meet James in person the summer before he came to campus. James, from London, offered to have a chat with Louis if he ever found himself in London, so Louis bought a train ticket and they had a nice afternoon laughing about all of the horrible productions they'd ever been a part of.

Louis figured James probably viewed him a bit too much like a son, considering Louis would vomit if anyone said James was a father-figure to him, but their banter was nice and James was a good teacher and a better director. But, most importantly, James had a shit-ton of connections and Louis needed a job when he graduated. He'd probably go down on James if it meant a well-paying gig in London. He wouldn't necessarily enjoy it, but he would do it.

Dropping himself unceremoniously into a chair, Louis bit back a smile as he realized everyone was watching him. He was a performer. He liked the attention. He liked knowing that he could captivate a room, even though he's walked into this class late every meeting they've had for the past fourteen weeks. 

They were working on monologues. Each student was a director working with another student in the class as their actor; each student was also an actor that another student directed. Louis's director was solid, at least knowing their shit for class, but Louis was a good enough actor that he could deliver the monologue without any notes. His director mostly just came up with a set design and made a few blocking suggestions.

Louis's actor was.. mediocre. Middle of the bunch, at least. There were some flat-out bad actors in the class, ones who had taken directing as an easy art elective because they figured they wouldn't have to get on stage, ones who wanted to go into stage managing or tech and had to take it for graduation requirements but loathed stepping under the spotlight. Louis's actor was a solid medium, which was at least good enough to work with.

As they'd be presenting their monologues with a short discussion about the directorial choices during their finals block, this class, the last one of the term, was dedicated to letting students practice on stage and ask for James's help. Louis really didn't need to be there; his director was happy with Louis's performance and his actor was solid as well. Neither of his partners showed up to the optional class. Louis was only here because _James_ asked him to be. And Louis quickly figured out why.

Sat with his legs over the armrest of a seat in the audience and _1984_ open in his lap as he planned to mostly do work through the period, Louis startled when James called out his name. When Louis asked James to repeat the question, his teacher instead told him to come up and perform the monologue on page 37 of their script. So Louis did. After, James said that was what natural movement on the stage was supposed to look like. He told a small girl who'd definitely designed some of Louis's costumes before that she should try Louis's blocking, instead of her presumed director's initial suggestions.

Then, Louis told them with a bored tone that they should strike the large wooden bench onstage. It was too cumbersome and awkward to move around. James looked like he had only felt true glee in that moment as he beamed at Louis and hastily agreed.

Louis just wanted to finish his fucking book.

Sticking around to help James clean up after class, Louis also ran a few scenes with James for the production he was planning on starting rehearsals for after the winter break. They finished around 4:00, so Louis stood outside and smoked a few fags until he was freezing and grabbed a rather early dinner. It was early enough that students weren't returning to the library from the dining halls or restaurants that littered campus, so Louis headed straight back to his private corner. He sat himself down with a full stomach and the nighttime hours stretched out in front of him for all the work he had planned out.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos/a comment if you liked it!


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